Chapter 14 A Test of Fire

The next morning, Elizabeth woke with the dawn. Pleasantly surprised and elated to feel more like her old self, she tested her body by closing her eyes once more to see if she could fall back asleep. A slow smile spread across her lips when she could not. Her body had completely replenished her strength. She relished finding herself again: the woman before the fire. 

Jane’s soft snoring in the bed next to her made her chuckle. While they both had endured the same lengthy previous day, Elizabeth cut her night short by hours compared to her sister. Since the revelation of Jane’s engagement to Mr. Bingley, their mother began planning as though the event was scheduled for tomorrow. Instead, it the happy occasion was to be one week after Christmas.

After dressing for the day, Elizabeth began a search for the items she had worn to the assembly. Her gown had long gone to the rag pile. She hoped some of the trimmings were salvageable for the staff. The simple gold cross that she had worn since her sixteenth birthday had been safely recovered and rested against her collar bone. It was a silly notion, but she suddenly hoped the pale pink ribbon that she had worn in her hair survived her ordeal. 

Frantically, she searched the basket holding many of the ribbons that she and her sister Jane used regularly, but she did not find any trace of the pretty satin from that fateful night. Touching her curls, her mind felt washed in relief that her hair had not caught on fire! She supposed if one had to succumb, much better it be the ribbon than her glory.

Disappointed, she shoved the basket back onto the shelf and deflated to a kneeling position on the wooden floor to reconsider her aims. One of the messages from Father Graham, apart from avoiding deep positions of mourning not rightfully hers to claim, included the encouragement of gratitude. His advice to her grief was to find ways and means of giving to those around her. From her lowered vantage point, she spotted her old sketchbooks from the last few years neatly tucked in a row. Reverently, her fingers traced their spines and she selected one that she was fairly confident might hold the images she desired.

The first few pages contained the failed efforts every artist created under the pressure of a new leather bound book. Too much opportunity and optimism. As much as she wished for every sketch to be perfect in every way, the trappings of her abilities not meeting her expectations humbled her again and again. Callously, she turned the pages quickly to move past the offending efforts. Falling to a page displaying the outside of Lucas Lodge, she grinned. She turned a few more pages and eventually she was rewarded with precisely what she was looking for: a number of sketches of Charlotte and Maria from last spring when they consented to pose for her during a lovely picnic.

Satisfied with what she had found, she dusted off her skirts and carefully placed the sketchbook on her writing desk near the window. Between her memories and the references in her sketchbook, she would be able to put Mr. Darcy’s most generous gift to good use. She would create a painting with the spring motif for Sir William Lucas and his lady as a small way of appeasing her guilt of surviving when they did not. Spying the sun’s light gaining an edge against the dark night, Elizabeth began to fret once more.

Hastily, she plucked her cloak off the peg and fastened it around her shoulders. She donned her boots and found the infernal walking stick, but stood paralyzed a moment back at her earlier dilemma. She started the whole morning wishing to thank Mr. Darcy for his gift of pigments, but dared not write to him a letter. It might be a fool’s errand entirely, as she hinged her efforts on catching his carriage as he took his leave of the county. But something told her he would direct his carriage past Longbourn, even if it was in the opposite direction of his travels.

As Jane muttered in her sleep, Elizabeth realized a ribbon from the night of the fire wasn’t necessary at all! She dashed over to the vanity and found the longer yardage of ribbon that she had cut the night of the assembly for her hair piece. Using shears, she trimmed another piece, this one only a few inches long. She grinned at the idea of offering Mr. Darcy her “token,” a piece of nondescript ribbon that’s only significance would be known between her and him. As she held the pale pink ribbon up to her face in the looking glass, she spied the haunting visage of Charlotte for a moment. Quickly, Elizabeth blinked and looked behind her, but it was just the reflection of Jane sleeping. Still feeling unsettled, she tucked the ribbon into the pocket of her gown and hoped that Mr. Darcy would understand her gift was more sentiment than function.

When she at last left through the kitchens, where the staff had once more prepared the daily breakfast for the adventurous Bennet daughter in a handkerchief, Elizabeth felt utterly restored in a way she felt she did not deserve. She used the walking cane to maintain her steady pace down the drive to where the main road connected to her father’s property. She could not have planned her timing better because down the road about half a mile, she could plainly see the arrival of a carriage. She wondered, as she watched the approaching vehicle, what Mr. Darcy would have done if she had not taken the initiative to meet him? Would he have held the carriage in case she appeared? Turned into the drive and come to the house properly to say farewell to her father? 

As the vehicle came to a slower pace to minimize the dust, she decided upon the last possibility. Realizing she might startle Mr. Darcy by being at the end of her father’s drive, she began to laugh just as the door opened and the gentleman revealed himself. 

“Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, holding himself from greeting her too familiarly, and offering a low bow.

“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, offering him a curtsy. “Would you like to take a small walk around the drive with me before your long journey?” she brazenly asked, and the man happily agreed. 

Once they were out of earshot of the driver and guard, Elizabeth began the conversation with her eternal gratitude for his thoughtful gift. 

“I see that your father gave it to you before I even left the area,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed.

“Oh, had you intended it to be a Christmas gift?” she asked, perplexed as she never could have accepted such a gift in front of her family, not when they were not engaged. 

“No,” he said, signaling he understood such a circumstance would have been impossible. “I only wished that he had waited until I was gone, you see, to perhaps remind you of my affections some time in the near future,” he explained.

Elizabeth thought for a moment as more than once the man’s statements baffled her understanding. A swift glance to his face and she understood the emotion he was trying to express: fear. He feared she might not hold any regard for him while he was gone.

“I admit I did wonder at you leaving the neighborhood,” she said, gently, not wishing to sound too cold.

Reaching into his great coat, Mr. Darcy pulled out a sealed piece of parchment. He pressed it to Elizabeth’s hand and dumbly she accepted it without thought, sliding it into her gown pocket. The movement reminded her of her gift, and she allowed her fingers to find the slip of satin.

“I detailed part of my explanation. Of course, I have been away from my affairs for over a month, and I am traveling north to Pemberley for Christmas,” he explained.

“Couldn’t be tempted by Miss Bingley to stay at Netherfield, eh?” Elizabeth teased, relaxed in his presence to give him a grin that exposed her full smile. His eyes lit up at the sentiment offered.

“Err, no,” he replied, lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the top of her exposed hand as she had not thought to don gloves. “Your hands are so cold,” he noticed, with a frown.

Elizabeth blushed as she suddenly realized she desired more than kisses upon her hand. Jane was correct, this kissing business was frightfully dangerous! 

“I shouldn’t keep you longer, but I shall return as soon as I am able,” he said, bowing.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, fumbling to pull the ribbon out of her pocket with the letter, but she struggled.

Mr. Darcy paled, fearing she was returning the letter, but sighed with a relief with her hand appeared in a closed fist, but clearly not with the missive.

“It is not the same as what I wore the night—” she said quickly, flustered and suddenly nervous. “That night,” she repeated, “you saved me. But it is from the same spool and like you, I was hoping you might remember me while you are away,” she whispered, holding her fist out. He stretched out his hand and when she opened hers, he didn’t feel anything at first. But when she removed her hand, he could finally see the gift.

“Elizabeth,” he uttered, in a voice of reverence. The ribbon was slightly crumpled, but holding it safely in one palm, he gently traced the length with his pointer finger on his other hand. “I shall keep it with me always.”

Elizabeth giggled. “I appreciate the sentiment, but do not think I will believe your faithfulness waivers if there are times when carrying around a silly, little ribbon is not convenient.”

“To others, yes, it appears to be an ordinary bit of ribbon. But to me, it is so much more,” he said, arresting her attention with the strained passion in his voice. 

Elizabeth allowed herself to fall helplessly enthralled by his expressive eyes, hoping her own reflected all of the words and emotions she dared not share. Not yet.

Again he bowed, and after tucking his treasure carefully away, he walked rigidly back to the carriage. Elizabeth watched his tall frame for a few moments, until she could hear the front door of Longbourn open behind her and voices. Turning around and enjoying a sharp, satisfying grind of her walking stick into the ground, she returned to her sisters standing in the doorway.